


We Don't Have to Rush

by NovelistAngel23



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: (kinda???), (mostly), Bad Boy Jean Kirstein, Falling In Love, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-17
Updated: 2017-03-17
Packaged: 2018-10-06 09:51:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10331960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NovelistAngel23/pseuds/NovelistAngel23
Summary: Marco's parents hated Jean and people who told Marco they might be wrong sometimes





	

Marco’s parents hated Jean.

It was never a secret. He wasn’t the only thing they hated.

They hated loud noises. They hated smoke. They hated people who challenged them. And people who told Marco they might be wrong sometimes.

A lot of the time.

They hated the way his leather jacket rustled as he moved around their living room the first time they’d met, and the way his hair spiked up at the ends. They hated the bubblegum pink of Marco’s bangs when he came home that night, and they comforted themselves when he cried at their scolding by saying he’d at least have the sense not to do it again.

He didn’t have any sense at all when it came to Jean.

Because Jean’s palms were rough and his smile was rakish. His hair was softer than Marco had thought hair could be. His laugh was addicting.

Marco loved Jean.

Loud noises made his eyes brighten. And smoke made him cough and giggle. He loved to think. He loved to be wrong. He loved when Jean shuffled awkwardly in his leather jacket under his window because Marco’s parents had banned him from their house.

He didn’t dye his hair pink again, but he let Jean draw him temporary tattoos, little flames and hearts made of bones, and the outline of Jean’s lips against his wrist. Jean got a matching one--real--of Marco’s lips against those delicate bones. Bubblegum pink.

Sometimes he’d wear Jean’s jacket as they danced to music, Marco overly enthusiastic, and Jean laughing like he’d never seen something so funny in his life. Even so, Marco always melted into his arms. He’d learned what adoration looked like from movies, and he saw it Jean’s eyes every time he looked up into them. Jean told him not to believe what he saw in movies, but some things he couldn’t let go of.

Because his stomach did flutter. His heart did warm. His face did turn red--he checked once in the polished steel of Jean’s motorcycle. Even his palms started to sweat. Jean smiled so tenderly when he felt them sweat against his own, put each hand against his cheeks and asked if poor, sweet Marco was getting lovesick.

Marco liked to think it was a match made in heaven. He always knew what to say. Jean always knew what to do.

So when Jean was frustrated, didn’t know what to do or how to go on, Marco’s words wrapped around him like a comforting blanket. He held his hand and leaned his head against Jean’s shoulder and promised the world wasn’t as suffocating as it seemed.

And when Marco was at a loss for words--

When Marco was at a loss for words…

When he cried and couldn’t speak. Or when he felt so tired he couldn’t whisper beyond a simple yes or no. Or when his lips trembled around every word he could get out.

Jean drove him out to the sea.

In the middle of the night, on the back of his motorcycle, Marco loved the way the stars turned to blurs as he let his tears drip and roll down the back of Jean’s jacket. When they made it to the rushing waves, Jean would hold Marco’s hand and lead him to the sand. Kick off his shoes and pull Marco’s off for him. Roll up his jeans and kiss his knee and smile up at Marco--adoring.

Marco lips trembled harder, but slowly he’d smile.

The sound of Jean music blasting couldn’t disturb anyone out here. The sound of the waves was the perfect background. Marco danced like he didn’t care if anyone knew his name. And those nights Jean didn’t laugh, just smiled.

Once they brought a blanket and laid back on the sand to look up at the stars. Marco pointed out constellations. Jean made some up.

He turned his head and smiled and whispered, “I love you.”

 _You said it first._ That was all that Marco could think.

All this time he’d been hiding the words in his throat, afraid somewhere deep down that his parents were always right.

Jean was a flake. Shallow. All he wanted from Marco was the satisfaction of perverting him. He liked to break hearts. And Marco didn’t mean a thing to him.

But they were wrong. They were wrong a lot of the time.

“I love you too,” Marco whispered that night.

Slowly their hands inched towards each other, till they were wrapped tight together, and when they looked up at the stars again, they weren’t as bright. Like all the light had flooded down from the sky and right into their skin, right into their hearts, and Marco still swears sometimes that they were glowing.

**Author's Note:**

> THIS IS SO SELF-INDULGENT, but I really missed writing in this more descriptive than plot style, it's so relaxing ; O ; This is pretty much entirely inspired by I Feel It Coming by The Weeknd ft. Daft Punk because GOD THAT'S A PRETTY SONG. Also it's always been a long standing headcanon of mine that when Marco's sad, bad boy Jean will drive him out to the ocean on his motorcycle, and it always makes him feel better.
> 
> I hope you like! And as always, I love kudos and comments and you can follow my sideblog novelistangel for more updates on my writing and fandom stuff! Love you guys =DD


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